Fortune Favors (5 page)

The towering promontory glistened in the perfect water, outlined by a sliver of moonlight. There was a structure atop the rock mass, a walled fortress from Malaysia’s colonial era, from which the silhouette of a roaming watchman was visible. Kismet took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface of the lagoon, stroking toward the wooden pier where he could rise without being spotted.

The scene above was a patchwork of modern technology and the traditional art of piracy. The crewmen streaming from the junk with crates of booty in their hands would have been right at home in the seventeenth century, but the four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles towing utility carts onto the rickety pier ruined the image. In minutes, the captured treasures were heaped onto the wagons and towed back toward the beach. A group of pirates followed on foot, barely visible to Kismet in his hiding place, but one figure stood out distinctly from the others.

The scarlet fabric of her evening gown served to accentuate rather than conceal the woman’s figure and the mane of blonde ringlets that cascaded to the middle of her back revealed not only her gender, but also her identity. The woman being escorted from the pirate ship was none other than Elisabeth Neuell, former A-list movie star and currently the Sultana of Muara.

What Kismet knew about the actress’ career and her marriage into one of the richest families in Southeast Asia, was solely the product of half-glimpsed supermarket tabloid headlines. He had seen her in one or two film roles—just enough to agree with the general complaint of critics that her talent was mostly underutilized by directors—but aside from that, he knew only that she was a lovely woman who had run away from one fairy tale kingdom—Hollywood—and into another, marrying her prince charming. There had been inevitable comparisons to the life of Grace Kelly, and indeed, in another age, Elisabeth Neuell might easily have launched her career as one of Alfred Hitchcock’s blonde bombshells. In any event, once she had taken the hand of the young Sultan, her interest in making movies had waned, this in spite of the rumored infidelities of both she and her husband. Her questionable moral character did not presently concern Kismet. She was a hostage, a captive of the pirate raiders, and as such demanded his attention.

Her captors were either guilty of very poor judgment, or had effectively trumped a military response; Kismet couldn’t decide which. Either the Sultan would move heaven and earth to recover his bride, or he would leave the pirates alone for fear that harm might come to the Sultana. Kismet decided to remove that wild card from the table.

There was no hesitation on his part. Attempting to rescue the hostage was a natural extension of the same immediacy of response that had prompted him to leave the cruise ship behind in the first place. That she was a beautiful woman did not matter one bit to Kismet; he would have done the same for anyone held captive by the pirates.

He caught a last glimpse of her crossing the beach toward the narrow jungle trail, of her shapely figure and blonde curls limned in moonlight.

Well, maybe it matters a little
.

The tropical sea was a warm soup that sapped his energy as he lingered beneath the pier. He waited until all activity on the junk ceased and the last flicker of light from the shore party disappeared into the jungle before crawling stealthily onto the beach.

Despite its imposing shadow, the cliff reaching up to the fortress was not sheer. Foliage clung to its steep slopes, highlighting the protrusions of rock that formed a veritable stairway up the face. Moving with a confidence born of urgency, Kismet deftly picked his way up the cliff, slowing his pace only when the upper reaches of his climb were in sight. He paused just below the lip, listening for the telltale sounds of conversation or footsteps but heard only the noise of the breakers, rushing softly over the reef beyond the lagoon.

The last part of the climb required a dynamic exertion; Kismet could touch the lip of the precipice with his outstretched fingers, but in order to complete his ascent he had to simultaneously jump and heave himself up onto the edge in a single movement. If the sentinels of the fortress' night watch were looking his way when he did, things would get ugly. He exhaled softly as he immediately dropped low and rolled away from the edge, seeking cover.

The walls of the fortress were precariously near to the edge. Kismet cleared the distance to the base of the stone barrier in a few steps, and flattened himself there, trying to pick out the sentries on the battlement above. For thirty seconds he watched, fighting to keep his breathing soft and shallow despite the exertion of climbing in the thick tropical humidity. Then he saw it, the faint glow of a cigarette ember high above, to his left.

The smoldering red point of light hovered motionless for a long time, then flared brightly. A moment later, it soared out over Kismet's head and vanished into the jungle carpet. A barely audible thumping noise indicated that the sentry had resumed a walking tour of the battlement. Kismet counted twenty footsteps before going to work.

He stripped out of his tuxedo jacket and the dress shirt underneath. The latter garment he wrapped tightly around the hooks of the grapnel he had seized before departing the cruise ship. He played out two arm lengths of rope and began whirling the hook and line in a broad circle. When the hook had achieved sufficient momentum, he released it, stepping away as he did, lest it fall back on his unprotected skull.

It did not. The hook sailed over the parapet and landed with a muted thud. The thin layer of fabric wrapped around the metal prongs had effectively muffled the noise of impact. He pulled in the line until the hook caught, giving it a final tug to make sure it was set, then wrapped the line around his body. Almost as an afterthought, he donned the jacket over his naked torso.

His biceps screamed in protest as he began ascending the vertical surface. His stocking-feet slipped uncertainly against the damp upright poles that formed the perimeter of the fortress. Nevertheless, three minutes later, he was atop the palisade, peering up and down the length of the battlement for any sign that he had been noticed.

The only sentry, the man he had spied before, was poised with his back to Kismet on an adjacent wall. His posture suggested that he was urinating out into the jungle canopy. As quietly as he could, Kismet heaved himself over the wall. His landing was light, though to his ears the noise was certainly enough to arouse suspicion. He loosened the hook from where it had bitten into the wood, and drew in the line, coiling it once more over his shoulder.

The pirates had done a great deal of work in order to reclaim the old fort from the jungle, fully restoring several buildings and evidently erecting the three pre-fabricated huts that looked completely out of place in the setting. Kismet nevertheless got the impression that this was a temporary base of operations; a transition point where they could lay low and gradually filter back into the civilized world with their newly acquired wealth.

He moved quickly and quietly, keeping an eye on the less than vigilant sentry who still roamed the battlement, and dropped down into the compound. When he was certain that no eyes would see him, he darted toward one of the nearby structures, taking shelter beneath a large window, covered by a gauzy veil of mosquito netting. There was a light burning from within, but Kismet heard no indication that the room beyond the window was occupied. He cautiously raised his head and peered over the sill.

Elisabeth Neuell sat with her back to the window, gazing into a streaked vanity mirror as she patiently brushed her hair. She now wore only a flimsy negligee, which seemed to be made of the same stuff as the mosquito netting. There was no one else in the room.

Odd attire for a hostage
, Kismet thought absently. He savored the role of peeping tom for a brief moment, and then cautiously pulled the veil aside.

“Your Highness,” he whispered.

The Sultana’s eyes found him in the mirror, and her hand froze in mid-stroke, but otherwise she did not react to his presence.

“I'm here to rescue you,” he continued, hefting himself onto the window sill and stepping forward into the room. “Get dressed. We haven't much time.”

She laid the brush aside and pulled on a robe of the same fabric as her chemise. It didn't increase her level of modesty dramatically, but it would have to do. She then looked him over, noting the sodden formal attire and his bare chest underneath. “Who are you?”

“My name is Nick Kismet.” He extended a hand, unsure if that was the correct protocol for greeting royalty. “I got bored at the party and decided to go for a moonlight swim. Now, if you have no objection, I think we should get moving.”

She regarded him warily, but took his hand and followed his lead. He rolled over the windowsill, dropping noiselessly onto the ground below then reached out to help her. She lowered herself into his embrace, intuitively understanding what was required. As her arms tightened around his body, he could not help notice how good she smelled.

He grudgingly relaxed his hold, allowing her to stand on her own. Elisabeth's posture seemed to flaunt her figure; she crossed her arms under her breasts, thrusting them up as if for inspection. In every other way, she seemed cool and detached, as if this were the sort of thing she did every day, and no longer found it even mildly stimulating. “Now what, Nick Kismet?”

Kismet shook his head to break the hypnotic spell cast by her breasts. “Now, we get out of here.”

“Lead on,” she replied, almost indifferently.

Kismet nodded. He glanced around, locating the lone sentry at the far end of the wall, apparently in the midst of another smoke break. He gestured in the opposite direction. “This way.”

“I take it the Sultan sent you.”

“Your husband,” he replied, as if to remind himself. “No, nothing like that. Like I said, I was at the reception on the ship when these guys made their big debut. I snuck onto their boat and hid out while they loaded her up. I didn’t even know they had you until I saw you disembarking here.”

She looked past Kismet, as if distracted. “I don't recognize you. I thought I knew most of his friends, especially the Americans.”

“I've never met him,” Kismet explained, holding out his hand. She regarded it suspiciously than placed her own smooth palm in his.

“But you volunteered to rescue me? Just like that? How very heroic of you.” If she was mocking him, Kismet could not hear it in her tone. She kept her voice kept low as they stole along the inside perimeter of the wall. “I’m lucky you came along. I don't think the Sultan cares enough to try to rescue me. The sapphire maybe—”

“I’m sure your husband is very concerned for your safety.”

She smiled knowingly into the darkness. “You are a very naive man, Mr. Kismet. The Sultan’s chief concern is the preservation of his lifestyle. I am but one of many playthings he has acquired. If he is concerned, it is because he does not like losing his toys.”

Kismet paused at the base of the wall, pulling Elisabeth down as the guard began the return phase of his patrol. “Well,
I
am concerned for your safety.”

“I’m touched,” she replied, her voice ringing genuine. “But you are also here for the treasures, aren't you? You said you didn’t even know I was onboard. You were following the treasures. I mean, that’s probably why you came on the cruise in the first place.”

It was Kismet's turn to smile unseen. “You have no idea. But I wouldn't trade my life—or anyone else's—for a few dusty relics.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered. “I know where they’re keeping most of it. I’m sure the sapphire is there.”

Her statement, delivered in the same offhand tone that she had used since he stepped into her life, caught him totally off guard. “What?”

“I know where Jin will put it. I can get it, if you'll let me.”

“Jin?” Kismet didn’t recognize the name, but it was safe to assume that Elisabeth had named the leader of the pirates. He did not have to ask about the gemstone she kept referring to. The Zamaron Sapphire was one of the few pieces in the collection to be publicly advertised in advance of the floating exhibition. The prize of the Sultan’s collection, it was in fact the “star” for which the cruise ship had been named. The enormous star sapphire, three hundred and twenty three carats, had originally been found in India a thousand years before Christ, and was reputed to have mystical powers. It had all but fallen out of history, hoarded by a succession of men who, like the recently deceased Sultan, kept such a marvelous and remarkable treasure hidden away for its own safety. Priceless or not, Kismet wasn’t about to risk his safety—or anyone else’s—for the gemstone. “Too dangerous. The Sultan can get it later if it’s that important.”

“Later?”

“After he shows up with the cavalry and levels this place. I’m sure he’s already looking for you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Never mind. Let's go.”

“Wait.” Her voice carried an urgency that compelled him to stop. “I am not leaving without that stone.”

“Are you nuts?” he hissed. He turned to face her, but she was already moving away. He had to break into a jog to catch her. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“I’m getting the sapphire,” she replied, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “When you walk out of here, you’re going to get to show me off as your prize. Well, I’m going to have that stone. Trust me. I know exactly where it is. I can get it.”

Kismet scowled, but knew that she was prepared to argue until she got her way, and that precious time would be lost in a futile effort to dissuade her. “All right, but hurry.”

“Follow me.”

As Kismet walked closely behind the actress, he once more found himself confronted with her beauty. Yet it was not only her physical form that alternately aroused and discomfited him. Her casual disinterest seemed to mask a passionate, win-at-all-cost spirit, and he found that almost irresistible.

What in the hell are you thinking, Kismet
?
She's a married woman
.